


Companionable

by Nenalata



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Friendships, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Kissing, Mentioned Felix/Annette, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), just fluff and smooching that's it, soft fluffy fluff, that too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: “You ever had a lover, Mercedes?”“Not exactly.""Notexactly?' What does that mean?""I never took lovers; just companions.""Oh, man! Hot gossip with Mercedes von Martritz!"Sylvain and Mercedes spend a lazy afternoon together at the Officers Academy.Now with STUNNING art from @blacktreecle!
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 35
Kudos: 208





	Companionable

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out on twitter [@NenalataWrites](https://twitter.com/NenalataWrites) if you want to see me ramble and post about this ship nonstop.
> 
> And for SURE check out [blacktreecle](https://twitter.com/blacktreecle) on twitter! She illustrated this fic for me and you really should shower her with love.

“—and if you put your thumbs right here, like this—”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, exactly. And then bring your—”

A thin, reedy whistle blasted Sylvain in the face. He laughed around his own blade of grass, letting it fall from his cupped hands. Mercedes grinned at him, triumphant behind hers.

“Yeah. Just like that.”

Mercedes buzzed a triumphant whistle back, and he laughed again. Sylvain lay back on the hill, resting his head under his arms, and closed his eyes while Mercedes whistled softly through her blade of grass. Like the world’s most bizarre lullaby.

Today was warm by central Fódlan’s standards, which made it hot by northern Faerghus’s. But there was enough of a breeze and enough cover of clouds Mercedes hoped Sylvain didn’t mind too much. Could enjoy it, maybe.

If nothing else, the company was nice.

Mercedes had never seen Sylvain like this before. Away from the prying, admiring, spiteful gazes of the monastery, Sylvain offered simple pleasures more than what his body could provide. Pleasures as simple as laughing together. As whistling through blades of grass.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Mercedes’s words, despite being softly spoken, seemed to rouse him from a half-slumber.

“Hm?” Sylvain, eyes still closed, lolled his head in the vague direction of her voice.

“This.” The prickly edge of a single green blade poked the tip of his nose, but she retreated before he could bat it away. “I’m sure you didn’t learn this back home—ah, in Gautier lands. They’re so cold, so I hear.”

“Heh. I’ll take you there sometime. You can be the judge.” Sylvain rolled over until he was flush against her stockinged thigh. When he peered up at her, roguish grin already quirked on his lips, disappointed embarrassment clogged Mercedes’s throat even as a flush rose to her cheeks.

Sylvain didn’t like talking about his home or family. Mercedes empathized to a certain extent. But sometimes he let his guard down around her. Sometimes, if she phrased things right, if she pushed just enough, he’d let her see the boy his childhood had stolen from him instead of the man his past had forced him to become.

She had not phrased or pushed correctly this time.

But she ventured a guess anyway. “Did Ingrid teach you? When you were children, that is.”

Sylvain’s brown eyes widened underneath her, and for a heart-stopping moment, Mercedes feared she’d upset him further. But then they crinkled as he smiled ear to ear. Boyish again. Happy to lie on this hill by the monastery again, talking of nothing. “Yeah. She did. Good guess.” The already-wide grin widened further. “She really was the type to get all covered in mud, damn what her father said. I think her older brother taught her the grass thing, but _Saints forbid_ he ever get in the dirt with us when they had _such important company as House Gautier_.”

A dark expression crept into his features, smile twisting into a smirk. But just as suddenly, he brightened. “But here _you_ are. Mercedes von Martritz, in the flesh,” it was to his credit he only knocked his shoulder against her thigh, no further unseemly touches, “rolling around in the dirt with Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

Mercedes relaxed. “That’s me. That’s the two of us.” She flounced back on the grass for emphasis. The warmth in his chuckle was cozier than the spring sun. “You have good choice in lady friends. Real lady friends,” she hastened to add. Too late; Sylvain rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. My _other_ ‘lady friends’ are dirty for different reasons.” He didn’t even laugh at his own joke, so Mercedes didn’t, either. It wasn’t something she…really laughed about, anyway. She hadn’t been much fun at parties lately as the younger Blue Lions discovered the joys of non-watered alcohol.

Maybe it had excited her more in her youth. Back in the Royal School of Sorcery, Mercedes had enjoyed the company of other students, to a certain extent. But now she was surrounded mostly by children—excited children, teenagers—and the novelty had worn off more out of…necessity. There weren’t many students her age, even had she been interested.

Talk of kissing and other things aside, it was one of the reasons she so liked spending time with Sylvain, much closer in age than the others. She particularly liked when she could catch him away from his horde of lovers and ex-lovers. He felt more real that way.

As if he sensed the trail of her thoughts, Sylvain piped up with the still-unexpected question, “You ever had a lover, Mercedes?”

Mercedes startled. She couldn’t help it; she _should_ have anticipated such a question from Sylvain of all people, and the subject was tangentially related, after all. For all Sylvain felt more honest, more real on his own, he still was Sylvain, and Sylvain liked to talk about…romance.

“Not exactly,” she hedged. She plucked more blades of grass free from the soil and mindlessly scattered them in her lap.

“’Not _exactly_?’ What does that mean?” Sylvain peered up at her, watching her gather loose blades of grass in a small pile. He looked equally interested in her activity as in the question. Mercedes didn’t think he cared about either answer.

But when she said, “I never took lovers; just companions,” and Sylvain’s eyebrows shot up alongside a gleefully scandalized grin, Mercedes realized she’d judged the situation all wrong.

“Oh, man. Hot gossip with Mercedes von Martritz!”

“Oh, you.”

Sylvain wiggled his fingers up at her. Mercedes batted them aside, but she couldn’t hide her own smile.

“’ _Companions._ ’ What does _companions_ mean, eh, Mercedes? What’s the difference between a _companion_ and a _lo-o-over_?”

Sylvain dropped his voice and drew out the vowels like a slow caress. Mercedes knew he was teasing her. She _knew_ it. And yet the soft quality of the words made newly-sensual sent a shiver tickling up and down her spine.

“You’re being juvenile,” she accused him, but she threw her collection of ripped-up leaves at him, as if that weren’t _juvenile_ enough. “Some friends from the School of Sorcery, that’s all. We kissed sometimes. That’s normal, isn’t it, for people of that age?”

Sylvain wrinkled his nose, but his eyes still danced. “Yeah, true. Goddess, can you imagine if that’s what our pack of Lions is up to?”

Mercedes stifled a laugh. “It wouldn’t surprise me if it were true. Last week, in Annie’s room—”

“Do _not_ remind me.” Sylvain sat up a little only to flop back on the grass for dramatic effect. “Man, one more glass of wine, and I’m pretty sure Annette would’ve crawled into Felix’s lap. I couldn’t even pull a ‘get a room,’ because we were _in_ her room.”

“Is that why you left?”

“Oh, definitely,” Sylvain said without an ounce of shame. “Is that why _you_ left?”

Mercedes pursed her lips, if only to restrain a damning smile. She was _loyal_ , and if being a loyal friend meant not complaining about decorum…“I can’t say. I wouldn’t want to be impolite.”

Sylvain’s snort was rather indelicate. “Right, right. ‘A lady never tells’ and all.” When he flicked his eyes back up to look at her, the teasing little glow in them remained. So Mercedes had no time to prepare herself when he said, “Think we would’ve cleared the room like that? If you and me had gotten all _companion_ -y in front of ‘em.”

Mercedes coughed on her inhale.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!”

He did not sound particularly sorry. That was not an apologetic laugh.

“They’re _children_.”

“Heh. True. Some would say _insatiable_ , though.” Judging by the way Sylvain emphasized the word, it was clearly one he’d heard directed at him. From one of their friends, no doubt. Mercedes wondered which one. It was rather hard to guess; all of them had a large vocabulary and varying degrees of opinions on Sylvain’s activities. “I just hope they’re doing it right, you know?” Sylvain sighed, although it was too loud and dramatic to convey convincing concern.

“Doing what right?” Mercedes humored him. Why she did so, she didn’t know.

Maybe it was because of the way the sunshine made his skin glow more than his smile, especially when he said, “You know. Being _companionable_. What if they’re really doing it wrong, grossing each other out? Not just us? Mercedes,” he gasped, “they could be turned off to kissing forever! No more companions!”

“You’re teasing me.” Mercedes uprooted more grass, prepared to fire her newest weapons.

Very mature.

“Me? Never.” Even less convincing. Sylvain was so much better at lying to the ladies when other people were around. And while his dopey smile radiated relaxed sincerity, Mercedes wouldn’t dare assume he wouldn’t ever lie to her. Mercedes wouldn’t dare assume he thought her special.

She chucked more grass at him instead. His laugh rang out in their pocket of solitude, and all that Academy precision training was wasted as he failed to knock away even a single blade of grass. Sylvain blew stray green bits off his face as best he could.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed back, doing her best to brush them away. Sylvain closed his eyes to let her pat-pat-pat his forehead and smiled at her touch. His eyelashes brushed the palm of her hand.

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not,” she agreed. “But at least I’m honest about it.” Her fingers slid through his bangs now, freeing more thrown grass. Sooner than her continued ministrations could excuse, his hair became vegetation-free.

Sylvain shifted under her touch, and Mercedes hesitated. But he didn't open his eyes, only sighed and relaxed further.

"Mm," Sylvain mumbled. "Feels nice."

Permission. Mercedes was happy enough to take it. Summery, grassy breeze fluttered the edges of his hair, of hers, and alongside the smell of flowers came the faintest hint of soap and parchment. She wanted to ask about it: had he just come from the sauna? From the library? From his room, freshly bathed and hunched over his desk, reading something unrelated to the work he never seemed to do?

Mercedes didn't give in. She didn't want to admit she'd been... _smelling_ him.

As if he sensed her sudden nervous tension, Sylvain hummed again, drawing her attention. Mercedes glanced down to find him looking at her under hooded lids.

"Sleepy?" she asked. Her voice came out more whisper than question.

"Not at all," he disagreed just as quietly.

Mercedes's hand had frozen in his hair, but Sylvain didn't encourage her to begin again. He didn't brush her away, either.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked instead.

Mercedes swallowed. Her fingers had never felt so heavy. "I thought it might be unwelcome," she said haltingly.

"Unwelcome?"

Sylvain's voice was as soft and silky as flower petals. Mercedes curled her fingers without meaning to. Her nails grazed his forehead. Sylvain didn't even flinch, just stared at her, below her, brown eyes darker around the edges than the winking sunset could excuse.

"I thought..." She trailed off, withdrawing instead of answering. But Sylvain's hand shot up faster, trapping her wrist in his gentle grip.

"It's very welcome." Sylvain's smirk softened when he realized he'd successfully caught her eye. "Really, Mercedes. I don't mean anything by it. You...feel good. _It_ felt good."

She smiled at his forehead instead of his face, because it was easier than meeting his gaze straight on. "I bet you say that to all your girls," she said, but she'd failed to include a teasing note to the scolding. And she continued stroking his hair.

"Maybe you're right." Silence. Mercedes tried not to let the words hurt her. Tried instead to enjoy his honesty. But Sylvain could never keep his mouth shut in the end, take those barbed words and sweeten them with something almost like genuine emotion. "Doesn't mean it's not true."

"Hmm."

The town of Garreg Mach lay under the glow of waning afternoon below them. Mercedes's touch on Sylvain's skin became more repetitive, a comforting motion to accompany the pretty landscape.

Sylvain sighed when the silence stretched on almost too long. "Gorgeous, huh?"

"Yes, quite."

"Good company for it."

Mercedes snorted, so inelegant and unlike her that Sylvain snickered, too. "My, you take your flirting very seriously," she said, and good, now she sounded properly mocking. She looked down, not just _on_ him but _at_ him, to see his face while she teased. "Is this where all your dedication—"

For the second time, Mercedes trailed off. Because something had shuttered behind his eyes, something she might have once called _vulnerable_. But something new entered his voice when he said, "Maybe I'd take things more seriously if I had something to dedicate myself _to_."

Mercedes couldn't speak. Couldn't formulate a proper reply, couldn't unravel his words fast enough.

Sylvain sat up quite suddenly then, sliding out from her grasp. His laugh came too easily. "Well, you know me," he chirped. "Just taking it one day at a time, ha!"

Mercedes ignored him, tucked her skirt over her knees, and scooted closer. He stiffened, then relaxed when she nestled her head into his shoulder. "Thank you for spending _this_ day with me, then."

Sylvain remained uncharacteristically quiet. Then, "Yeah. Of course, Mercedes."

Silence descended once more, and while an undercurrent of tension hummed beneath it, at least it wasn't uncomfortable. But Mercedes had never been more aware of the lack of conversation with anyone, ever, in her entire life.

This close, the clean scent of soap was even stronger, even more comforting. Almost unaware she was doing so, Mercedes cuddled closer, closing her eyes and inhaling. 

If she weren't so conscious of his warm body in this warm sunset, she thought maybe she could fall asleep like this. The soothing rise and fall of his chest, her breath evening out with his, felt...right, somehow.

It didn't take her long, however, to feel his eyes on her. Her sense of the closeness of their bodies was too heightened for her to ignore it.

Mercedes's eyes fluttered open slowly, like she was scared of what she might find. And there was indeed something almost frightening about seeing exactly what she expected: Sylvain, looking at her, facing her as much as his posture could allow, head tilted down, like he would—

"Mercedes," Sylvain said quietly, and the deep timbre of his voice resonated in her own chest, "can I kiss you?"

Mercedes's heart pounded hard enough to block her throat, prevent a response. But Sylvain didn't look nervous. Or embarrassed. Or afraid. Made no gesture to take it back, no tightening of his posture. Like he knew what she'd say when she did find her voice again.

Like he knew it wouldn't mean anything, nothing at all, she wouldn't mind, it would be fine, it could be okay...

"Okay," Mercedes whispered.

She didn't withdraw when he lowered his head. They kept their eyes on each other, watching, waiting for a change of expression. But Sylvain's eyes were the first to close, his lashes whispering against her cheeks, and Mercedes closed her eyes half a breath before his lips brushed hers.

Sylvain kissed her, first her top lip, then her bottom, ghosting memories of kisses more than kisses themselves. His mouth was warm, warmer than the last glowing embers of sunshine. But his touch still sent little flares of heat through her chest, and when he drew back for a heartbeat, Mercedes, with trembling fingers, cupped his cheek, leaned in, and kissed him back.

His lips parted under hers. Now it was Mercedes’s turn to explore, experiment, see what parts of his mouth fit just _right_ with hers. She cautiously traced his lower lip with just a flick of her tongue, testing. Sylvain gasped a deep shudder of a breath, slid his fingers into her hair at the back of her head, drew her close, and closer, and—

Mercedes fell on top of him, and Sylvain’s quiet moan filled the infinitesimal gap between their mouths. She followed the sound, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and heard that beautiful little moan once more. Sylvain liked it when the tips of their tongues touched. His fingers would tighten in her hair, nails digging into her skin. She leaned into the feeling, kissing him like that to get him to do it again. When one of his hands wandered just above her neck, stroking the skin behind where her jaw met her ear, it was Mercedes’s turn to moan.

“’S that good?” Sylvain asked. His dark eyes bore into her, watching her reaction with a critical eye like she’d never seen on him. Mercedes nodded, and his bruised lips split into a grin. “Good.”

He surged up, mouth colliding on hers with urgency now. Mercedes straddled his hips and buried her own fingers in his hair, drawing him closer, closer. Sylvain adjusted her in his lap, still kissing her and distracting her, and at first Mercedes didn’t understand why.

But once her thighs found themselves hugging his legs, not his hips, comprehension dawned. Mercedes laughed against his lips, and he pulled back to let her explain. “Thank you,” was all she giggled, and the smile Sylvain offered in return was more sheepish than aroused.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Mercedes didn’t want more elaboration, and she doubted Sylvain did, either. So she rescued them both by bringing her hands to his jaw again, closing her eyes, and sucking on his bottom lip. Sylvain groaned, deep in his throat. Mercedes shuddered in his arms. His hands stroked her spine, up and down, almost soothing did it not so electrify her skin. She changed her grip to latch onto his shoulders, then around his neck.

Sylvain plunged his tongue into her mouth with the new position, and before long, Mercedes was gasping and moaning against him. Heated desire pulled taut in her stomach, her hips, and she let him take over. Lips, tongue, the barest hint of teeth. Mercedes pulled back to breathe, and Sylvain took the opportunity to nibble at her neck—

“No,” she said, and Sylvain froze immediately. She carded her fingers through his hair, relaxing him, reassuring him. When he lifted his head to check her expression, she was sure to smile at him. When he smiled back, any remaining rigidness left her posture.

“Not a fan?” he asked. His voice was raw with kissing, and that hot _wanting_ shivered through her again.

“Oh, no, yes, I—” Mercedes stifled an embarrassed laugh. “We shouldn’t…marks,” she explained uselessly, but Sylvain _did_ laugh, understanding. _Thank the Goddess_.

“Yeah, right. Marks. Don’t need the kids asking weird questions.” He squinted at the sunset now. “It’s getting cold anyway. Maybe we should…?”

As disappointed as the fire inside her was, Mercedes agreed. Now that they’d stopped, even for just these few moments, the chill of the monastery’s high altitude seeped through her uniform. “I suppose we should head back, yes,” she sighed. And she hoped she didn’t imagine it, was positive she hadn’t, but Sylvain bit his lip and shivered with her sigh on his lips.

“Yeah.” He sounded just as reluctant as her. Neither of them made to move.

“Yes.”

Sylvain was still looking at her. His gaze flickered to her doubtlessly-reddened lips, and impulsively, Mercedes planted one more kiss on the corner of his lips. Before he could turn his head, she rolled off his lap and offered him a hand to help him up.

He grinned at her—reddened lips and all—and took it, heaving himself to his feet. Like he needed the assistance. “Nice way to spend an afternoon,” he said casually. But he didn’t make to touch her past that helping hand, and let go the moment they both were balanced.

They began to trudge up the hillside back to the monastery. “Yes, quite.” Mercedes made to smile back, but of course Sylvain had to ruin it; he stretched and yawned, scratched the back of his head, and turned to her with a roguish little smirk.

“So,” he began, and Mercedes knew she’d dislike whatever he said next. “Does this make me your Garreg Mach _companion_?”

And there was that stinging hurt once more.

“No,” she corrected him, pinching her eyebrows together. “You’re my friend.”

Sylvain stopped in his tracks.

Mercedes did, too, once she realized he wasn’t following. The expression on his face was one she’d never seen, and made it impossible to read. Too serious. Too confused. Too _confusing_. “Whatever is the matter?” The sound of her voice seemed to bring him back to himself.

Sylvain shook himself and increased his pace to catch up. “Nothing,” he said, and Mercedes decided to believe him. He grinned at her again, those bruised lips the only evidence of anything different, anything she’d done to change things. “I just…had a really nice time. And you’re a good friend.”

The word took on a reverent quality in his voice. Mercedes hurried to look away, refusing to see, understand, trust what neither of them wanted to feel. “So,” she said as cheerfully as she could, “did Ingrid’s brother teach you that, too?”

Sylvain stopped again, but it didn’t last. Mercedes failed to hide her grin when he burst into shocked laughter. “Oh, for—wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” he cackled, shoving her shoulder. She elbowed him back, feeling pink rush to her cheeks.

“Well. You _did_ say he wouldn’t get in the dirt with you,” she pretended to correct herself. Sylvain kept laughing.

“True. You got him beat there, Mercedes.”

By the time they reached the dorms, conversation had relaxed back to teasing, to school, to friends once more. No more talk of companions, of teaching, of stolen kisses on the hillside.

Not until Mercedes said goodbye at her door. Sylvain waved goodbye from below the short set of stairs, a reckless smile quirking his lips. It was easier to find it real when it was so crooked, imperfect, and boyish. “See you, Mercedes.”

“At dinner?”

“Yeah, for sure. Got seating plans?”

Mercedes nodded. “With Annie and Hilda, yes. Oh! You should join us,” she remembered. “You and Felix both.”

Sylvain made a face. “Ugh. Maybe. If Felix says no, I will. I swear, if he and Annette don’t _do_ something…” He pretended to gag, and Mercedes covered her smile.

“Shush!” She cast a meaningful, furtive glance at Annie’s room next door, and Sylvain’s laughter quieted.

“Okay, fine. I’ll let you know. See you.”

Mercedes’s hand was on the doorknob when Sylvain’s soft voice called her back. “Ah, Mercedes?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Sylvain standing still at the bottom of the stairs. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, and his eyes were trained to a spot just to the side of her face when he said, “Let’s…hang out again sometime. That okay?”

Mercedes smiled, then smiled bigger, and it almost hurt, but the small throbbing pain of bruises felt good. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

If he were anyone else, Mercedes would have called his expression _shy_. But…”Got it,” Sylvain nodded. “See you, Mercedes.”

“You’ve said that three times now,” she reminded him, but she didn’t care, and the scold clearly meant little to him, because now he smirked, a familiar, Sylvain-like twinkle in his eyes.

“It’s still true, isn’t it?”

“Goodbye, Sylvain,” Mercedes said firmly, stepping inside her room properly now.

“Heh. See you.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Mercedes leaned against it, heart racing for reasons she wasn’t prepared to confront.

It was too many minutes later she finally heard bootsteps crunch away, over grass, onto pavement, and up the stairs to the second-floor dorms.


End file.
